


The Peace in Our Minds

by weethreequarter



Series: Nothing More [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Developing Friendships, Discussions of past torture, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Slavery, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 08:56:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13498732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weethreequarter/pseuds/weethreequarter
Summary: It began with insomnia, and ended with a drink, and in between a friendship was formed.





	The Peace in Our Minds

**Author's Note:**

> This thing came into my head a few days ago, and wouldn't let me write anything else until it was done. Be prepared for a fuck-ton of angst and discussions of past torture. And Steve and Tony becoming best bros, because those two need someone in their corner. And in this universe they're able to see it.
> 
> Hopefully now it's out of my head, normal service will resume and I can return to my WIPs. Although I have a feeling there may be some other one shots showing up at some point.

It started with insomnia.

 

Steve's, to be precise, although they both suffered from it. After two hours of tossing and turning and staring through the darkness at the ceiling, Steve abandoned his attempts to get back to sleep and rolled out of bed. He padded down the hall to the elevator, leaning against the wall as it zoomed silently up five floors in a matter of seconds.

 

He stepped out onto the common floor, turning towards the kitchen. To his surprise, he found Tony already there, sitting at the table with a glass of scotch.

 

“Hey Cap,” Tony smiled. “Burning the midnight oil?”

 

“Can't sleep,” Steve replied. He opened the fridge, retrieving a carton of orange juice before joining Tony at the table. “You?”

 

“Same,” Tony sighed, lifting his glass in a toast. Steve tapped the glass with the carton before taking a swig. Tony grimaced. “Can't believe you drink from the carton,” he muttered.

 

“Can't believe _you_ have a problem with that,” Steve retorted with a grin.

 

“Don't believe everything you hear about me,” Tony sniffed.

 

It was true. Even now, three years after the Avenger's Initiative began, Steve barely knew Tony. They'd gone their separate ways after New York; it was only after the fall of SHIELD that Steve and most of the others had moved in to the Tower permanently. Tony remained an enigma to him.

 

“Ever been in love, Cap?” Tony asked.

 

Images of Peggy and Bucky flashed through his mind. Steve smiled.

 

“Yeah, I have.”

 

“Then you know it sucks?”

 

“It only sucks when it ends,” Steve argued.

 

“But there's the thing: it always ends,” Tony pointed out. “Somebody dies, or falls out of love, or somebody's father disapproves of the hired help sleeping with his son. It always ends.”

 

“Let me guess, your dad?”

 

Steve was slowly coming to terms with the fact that the Howard Stark he knew and the Howard Stark who raised Tony were two very different people. And the Howard that raised Tony was far from a stellar father. Steve wondered how much he was to blame. Perhaps Tony even had a right to blame him.

 

But to his surprise, Tony shook his head.

 

“No, I was the hired help who got fired for fucking the boss' kid,” he replied.

 

“What happened?” Steve asked.

 

Tony shrugged.

 

“His dad found out and I was gone. Never saw him again,” Tony said, staring into his glass. He swirled the scotch slowly.

 

“That's too bad,” Steve said. “You never thought about trying to get in touch again?”

 

“Not possible,” Tony shook his head.

 

“You sure?”

 

“Pretty damn,” Tony smiled sadly.

 

“Sucks,” Steve commiserated.

 

Tony chuckled.

 

“Yeah.”

 

 

X

 

 

Steve didn't really think much of the conversation he and Tony had had that night. It was unusual, sure, but he was quickly learning that the Tony Stark portrayed by the media and the real Tony Stark were two very different people. Tony was actually much quieter than most people assumed of him. The mad scientist running frantically around his lab was a myth; in reality Tony was quite, focused, and determined, each movement precise and with cause.

 

So he didn't think that much of the conversation, other than musing on the fact that Tony had been in love once, so much so that it still haunted him. Huh. Who knew?

 

It wasn't until later, on another night when they were the only two awake in the tower, that he realised exactly how big a revelation this fact was.

 

Steve's eyes ached from the hours spent in front of the computer screen, searching through file after file of data, hoping for some clue as to where Bucky had gone after Washington DC. Six months and it felt like he was running in circles: exhausting and getting nowhere.

 

“Screw it,” he muttered, pushing his laptop closed and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He could still see the bright outline of the screen against his eyelids.

 

Pushing his chair back, Steve left his room and wandered along the hall. He stretched absently as he waited for the elevator, trying to alleviate some of the aches that had taken up residence in his muscles from sitting all day and half the night. But to his surprise, the elevator wasn't empty when the doors opened with a soft _ding_. Tony was leaning awkwardly in the corner of the lift, still dressed in the suit he'd left in earlier albeit more rumpled than when Steve caught a brief glimpse of him on a kitchen run earlier in the evening.

 

“What happened to you?” Steve asked.

 

“I ran into a wall?” Tony supplied.

 

“A wall with fists?” Steve raised an eyebrow, wiping the trickle of blood from the cut on Tony's forehead. Tony hissed.

 

“A wall with friends,” he said.

 

“You okay?” Steve asked.

 

“Yeah, I'll be fine,” Tony nodded. “Nothing I couldn't handle.”

 

Steve raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

 

“Nothing I and the event security couldn't handle,” Tony amended. “Think you could give me a hand? One of the wall's friends was a biter; he got me on the back. I wanna make sure I didn't get rabies from him.”

 

“Sure,” Steve nodded.

 

He followed Tony out of the elevator and into the bathroom, where he helped him out of his shirt and wife-beater before grabbing the antiseptic fluid and tissues – and the fact that he knew where they were without asking said something rather alarming about their lives, even discounting their careers as superheroes. Then Steve walked around to Tony's back and froze.

 

“Not a pretty sight, huh?” Tony chuckled.

 

Now _there_ was an understatement. Tony's back was a mess. Scars trailed across his back from shoulder to hip, long ugly lines with periodic knicks and hundreds of knots of scar tissue, some larger than others, curling in on themselves as they stood out starkly against Tony's skin. While they were all long healed, that didn't change the obvious fact that they must've hurt like _hell_ when they were administered. And that brought a whole new horrifying slew of questions to mind.

 

“Hey Steve? You think you could deal with that bite? You know, the thing that actually hurts?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Steve shook himself. “Sorry.”

 

He poured a little antiseptic onto a tissue and carefully swiped around the crescent of puncture marks on Tony's collarbone. Tony hissed, his muscles tensing under Steve's hand.

 

“It's okay,” he replied. “I get it. They're, uh, yeah.”

 

“What happened?” Steve asked. He set aside the antiseptic and grabbed a square of gauze and the tape.

 

“That's what happens when you fuck the boss' son.”

 

Steve froze.

 

“What? That's got to be illegal,” he exclaimed.

 

“Here, yes. There... No.”

 

“Where the hell is this place?” Steve muttered.

 

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

 

“Done,” Steve announced, pressing down the final corner of tape and stepping back. “You need that cut done?” he asked, pointing to Tony's forehead.

 

“Nah, it's fine,” Tony shrugged, swiping the antiseptic and wiping away the last of the blood with gritted teeth. “Thanks Cap.”

 

Steve took the dismissal for what it was and left Tony to it. But in his mind's eye, he couldn't escape the image of the scars criss-crossing Tony's back in horrific glory.

 

 

X

 

 

When it came to Tony Stark, there was only one expert: Pepper Potts.

 

Steve took the fact that Tony hadn't sworn him to secrecy as permission to snoop. Not that it would have stopped him anyway; he was worried. Okay, yeah, it was a long time ago, but Tony had been tortured. That was the only explanation. He had to have been held down for so many scars to exist. So he sought out Pepper in the hope that she could give him some answers.

 

Steve liked Pepper. A lot. She was smart and confident and unafraid to tell it as it is. She was a lot like Peggy in many ways. And she made Bruce smile in ways Steve never would've thought possible when he first met the scientist on the helicarrier.

 

He tracked her down to the lounge on the floor she shared with Bruce, confident they wouldn't be interrupted as he'd passed Tony and Bruce in the labs on his way down. Stepping out of the elevator, he rapped his knuckles against the glass door. Pepper glanced up, a smile spreading across her face when she recognised him.

 

“Steve, come in,” she greeted.

 

“Hey Pep,” he grinned.

 

“What can I do for you?” she asked, indicating that he should sit.

 

“I'm hoping you can give me some information.”

 

“Information about Tony?” Pepper guessed with a knowing smile.

 

“Yeah,” Steve nodded.

 

“He let you see them,” Pepper realised.

 

Steve blinked.

 

 _Damn_ , she was good.

 

“Yeah. What can you tell me about them?”

 

“Not much,” she shrugged. “He had a relationship with a guy, whose father found out. Those scars are the result.”

 

“Yeah, but where?” Steve pressed. “I mean, that's not legal here. Is it legal anywhere?”

 

“I'm not an expert,” Pepper replied. “I know it was before his parents died. And I know he really loves the guy, even now.”

 

“Is it a secret?” Steve asked. “Is he going to be pissed that I asked you?”

 

“He doesn't hide them,” Pepper shook her head. “You can't get around as much as Tony Stark does and expect to keep something like that secret. He never makes a big deal out of them, so they've never really come out.”

 

Steve nodded slowly, biting his lip. He thanked Pepper for her help, then sought out Natasha.

 

 

X

 

 

He found Natasha and Clint training in the gym. No doubt Natasha noticed him before he'd even set one foot in the room, but they showed no indication of pausing their fight. Steve settled down at the edge of the room on a pile of mats and watched, enjoying the brutal grace of their blows and observing the differences in their fighting styles.

 

Eventually the fight ended with Natasha knocking Clint's feet out from underneath him and pining him to the mat with her knee. When she stood, the fight left her body, signalling it was over. Steve stood, picking up the two bottles from the side of the room and crossing to his teammates.

 

“Thanks,” Natasha nodded, taking the proffered bottle. Steve helped Clint to his feet, then handed him the second bottle. “What's up?” Natasha asked after downing half the bottle.

 

“I need your expertise,” Steve replied.

 

Natasha crooked an eyebrow.

 

“Have you ever come across flogging?” he asked.

 

“Is this some kind of kinky sex thing?” Clint wheezed.

 

“No. I mean as a punishment for a crime, or perceived crime,” Steve explained. “And that book you gave me was an affront to literature.”

 

Clint grinned.

 

“I've never personally experienced it,” Natasha replied, “But I've seen it happen. It's a punishment under Sharia law for crimes such as drinking alcohol to sex outside of marriage. Then in a variety of countries including Singapore, Brunei, and Malaysia the courts can sentence canings for offences including drug charges, sexual offences, or even vandalism.”

 

“Why the interest?” Clint asked.

 

“You ever seen Tony's back?” Steve asked.

 

Clint shook his head.

 

“It's covered in scars,” Steve explained. “He told me it happened after the father of some guy he was seeing found out about them. Apparently Tony worked for the guy's father, and the father didn't like the idea of his son being with someone on the payroll. It's, uh, pretty horrible.”

 

“Sounds more like sharia,” Natasha mused. “But that would imply Tony working in somewhere like Saudi Arabia or Yemen or the UAE. Other than Afghanistan, there's no record of Tony living anywhere other than the US. He has a house in Dubai, but that's it.”

 

Steve exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face.

 

“What's the big deal?” Clint frowned. “As long as it's not still happening, why do you care?”

 

“Because it awful, Clint,” Steve replied. “That is not legal. Whoever did that should be punished. It's torture.”

 

It was clear however that neither Clint nor Natasha really understood. Which was fair enough. Neither of them had seen the marks littering Tony's skin.

 

 

X

 

 

It was six months since they'd watched the events in London unfold on TV with horror, hoping that Thor was strong enough to handle it on his own with the knowledge that none of them could make it there in enough time to help. They knew he'd been on earth since then – had even spoken to him a few times via phone or video calls – and that he was spending some much needed time catching up with Jane. But it was only now that he was returning home, with his girlfriend in tow. No pressure for the poor woman, Steve mused. Although if she could survive the Asgardians, theoretically the Avengers should be a cake walk. Theoretically.

 

It was Tony and Steve who were at home when Thor arrived – because when _wasn't_ it Tony and Steve, Steve realised; even when they were doing completely different things, they seemed to gravitate towards each other. It wasn't sexual; it was companionship.

 

“Hey man,” Tony greeted the God of Thunder. “How was the flight?”

 

“It was... interesting,” Thor replied.

 

“I offered to send a private jet,” Tony reminded him, holding up his hands. “Avoids all those nasty travel experiences such as coach seats and the crying baby in 3B.”

 

“It was a fascinating glimpse into Midgardian culture,” Thor insisted, and Steve wondered yet again how often Thor was just fucking with them all. “But it is good to be back.”

 

“Well, it's good to see you buddy,” Tony declared.

 

“Definitely,” Steve agreed. “How's Asgard?”

 

“Rebuilding after Malekith's attack,” Thor replied. “My father is grieving, but I am certain he shall have it back to its former glory in no time. To lose my mother and my brother is such quick succession-”

 

“Wait, what?” Tony interrupted. Steve glanced at the engineer; to his surprise, Tony's eyes were wider than normal, fixed on Thor with a startled intensity. “Your brother? What do you mean?”

 

“Loki was killed on Svartalfheim battling the dark elves,” Thor explained. Steve saw Tony swallow, pursing his lips.

 

“'scuse me,” Tony muttered, turning and disappearing before either Steve or Thor could say a word.

 

“What was that about?” Thor frowned.

 

“I don't know,” Steve replied.

 

He didn't see Tony for the rest of the day, which was hardly unusual. Tony often disappeared for hours on end. But every time Steve passed through the common area of the tower and glanced up to the labs, it was only Bruce he saw working up there. There was no sign of Tony flitting from station to station, pausing to scold his bots or to ask JARVIS to make a note. Then evening came and they gathered together for the first meal together with Thor, and Steve realised that Tony was still missing.

 

“Anyone seen Tony?” he asked.

 

“Not since this morning,” Bruce replied.

 

“JARVIS, can you tell Tony that dinner's ready?” Steve asked.

 

“I'm sorry Captain, but Mister Stark has asked not to be disturbed.”

 

The rest of the team seemed unbothered by JARVIS' reply; again, it was far from the first time that Tony had rejected their company or offers of food, but something niggled at the back of Steve's mind, telling him that something wasn't right.

 

After dinner he left Thor regaling the team with stories of his time in London with Jane and took the elevator down to Tony's floor. Stepping out of the elevator, Steve tapped his knuckles against the glass door, but he could see no signs of life.

 

“JARVIS?” he called.

 

“I'm sorry Captain Rogers,” the AI replied – and he really did sound sorry, “But I'm afraid Mister Stark doesn't want company right now.”

 

Steve sighed.

 

“Okay,” he replied eventually. “Just... Tell him to come find me. If he wants to talk.”

 

“I will Captain.”

 

 

X

 

 

Over the following days and weeks, Steve couldn't get a read on Tony. He switched from hot and cold in an instant; one second he was his usual self, albeit slightly too much, and the next he was angry and cold, snapping at everyone for the most inconsequential thing. Bruce and Pepper were the only two spared his wrath, because even at his worst Tony would never lash out at Bruce like that, and Pepper terrified him more than anything in the world. All Steve could do was sit back, watch, and wait for it to erupt. In the meantime, he dragged Tony to the gym whenever he could, and allowed Tony to beat seven bells out of him.

 

It seemed to help.

 

 

X

 

 

It all kicked off after what is actually a relatively minor skirmish. No, seriously, it didn't even make it to be classified as a fight, and was so very far away from being a fully-fledged battle. It was minor, kid's stuff. But Tony still ended up with a dislocated shoulder.

 

“How you doing man?” Clint asked as he strolled into the lab, tossing an apple from hand to hand.

 

“Peachy,” Tony replied through gritted teeth. Steve was helping him out of his base layer as carefully as possible, but it was obvious it still hurt like a bitch. Clint hopped up onto the counter next to Nat to watch the genius and the super-soldier. Bruce hovered in the background.

 

“Tony, maybe I should just cut this?” Steve suggested.

 

Tony opened his mouth to argue, then deflated.

 

“Yeah, sure, go for it,” he acquiesced.

 

Bruce handed Steve a pair of scissors who, holding the material away from Tony's skin, began to cut down the sleeve of Tony's immobile arm. He wondered briefly if he should order the rest of the team to clear out, but Pepper's voice rang in his head - _“He never hides them”_ \- and reminded himself that he was the one who'd told Clint and Natasha about Tony's scars. Instead he focused on what he was doing, relieved that Tony's laboured breathing had fallen back to normal now that they'd abandoned the clearly idiotic attempt to remove his shirt whole.

 

Reaching the cuff, Steve put aside the scissors and peeled the shirt away from Tony's chest. Tony raised his other arm to allow Steve to remove the other sleeve, then Steve stepped aside to throw the shirt in the trash. Which was when Clint inhaled sharply and muttered, “Fucking hell.”

 

Tony snorted.

 

“Not pretty, are they?” He glanced at Steve. “I'm guessing you told them already?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve nodded.

 

“It's different seeing them in real life,” Clint added.

 

“My God,” Bruce murmured, stepping closer. “Tony...”

 

“Work of advice, never fuck the boss' son,” Tony joked.

 

“Dude, you were literally whipped,” Clint exclaimed. “That is messed up. What are those raised bits?”

 

“The Devil's Tail,” Thor's voice replied. They all looked around – no one heard the God of Thunder join them, so distracted were they by Tony's scars – except for Tony, who Steve saw tense out of the corner of his eyes.

 

“The what now?” Clint frowned.

 

“The Devil's Tail,” Thor repeated. “A whip of nine strands, with knots along each strand, and a hook at the end.”

 

“Jesus, fuck,” Clint exclaimed, shaking his head. “That is sick.”

 

“I've never heard of it before,” Natasha said.

 

It explained a lot though. The raised scar tissue was clearly from the hooks. Steve winced at the mere thought of hooks digging into his flesh, several dozen times going by the amount of damage to Tony's back.

 

“But it's impossible,” Thor shook his head.

 

Steve saw Tony's jaw clench before the genius turned to Thor with narrowed eyes.

 

“Really?” he spat. “Cause, now I know that I wasn't the only one this was done to. I mean, I suspected when you didn't recognise me – unless of course you really were that much of a bastard back then – but thanks for confirming for me.”

 

“Tony?” Steve frowned.

 

“It's an Asgardian punishment,” Tony explained, without tearing his eyes from Thor – who did at least have the decency to look ashamed.

 

“When were you on Asgard?” Clint frowned.

 

“ _How_ were you on Asgard?” Bruce added.

 

“You wanna tell them Point Break?” Tony asked. “No? Okay. You see, Asgard had this _wonderful_ little tradition where they would take pick up humans, stop them from ageing for, oh, a couple of hundred years so they could use them as slaves, then drop them right back where they picked off so no one ever knew they were missing.” Tony offered Steve a humourless smile. “You're not the only one looking good for their age, Cap. I'm over three hundred years old. Thanks to the great and powerful Allfather. May he rot in hell.”

 

“Asgard stopped that practise,” Thor argued, “After...”

 

Tony smirked.

 

“After I was caught with my pants down? Afraid someone else was going to give one to the son and heirs?”

 

“Wait,” Clint interrupted. “So, you two...”

 

“No,” Tony shook his head, “If I was going to go for big, blond and gorgeous I'd go for Steve over there.”

 

“Thanks?” Steve raised his eyebrows.

 

Clint frowned.

 

“Then...?”

 

“Loki,” Natasha finished.

 

“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “Yeah, Loki and I...” He swallowed.

 

Bruce and Clint were clearly reeling from the revelation and struggling to reconcile the idea of anyone – never mind Tony – loving Loki. And while a part of Steve wanted to express revulsion, a bigger part of him saw the agony in Tony's expression, then saw the scars littering his friend's skin, and his heart ached. He knew what it was to lose someone you loved and not be able to say anything about it.

 

“What happened?” he asked.

 

“Odin found out,” Tony replied, his voice clinical. “He punished me by publicly flogging me, then dropped me off right where they found me, in my dad's house in California. Did you know there were still hooks in my back when I got back?” he asked, addressing Thor once more.

 

Steve tasted bile. The thought of the hooks sticking in skin... But no, they wouldn't come loose from their bindings that easily. The hooks must've dragged, buried themselves deep into Tony's tissue and muscles before sticking there.

 

“But, of course, my dad refused to have me taken to a hospital,” Tony continued, “Because I couldn't exactly explain how they got there, and people would ask questions if Howard Stark's son turned up in hospital with his back split open and fucking _hooks_ sticking out of him. You know what it feels like getting them pulled out?”

 

“No,” Thor admitted. Give him credit, his voice was hoarse and he looked a little green around the gills, but he didn't waver in the face of Tony's fury.

 

“But if you didn't recognise me until now, then I've gotta wonder: how many other humans are there walking around with scars like this?” Tony spat.

 

“It's a barbaric practise,” Thor admitted. “One that should have been relegated to the history books long ago. I know there's nothing I can say which would make you forgive me, but I hope you believe that.”

 

“You're damn right,” Tony snapped.

 

“Okay, wait. My brain is struggling to keep up here,” Clint said. “So, you and Loki...” He shuddered. “But what about New York? I mean, did Loki not recognise you? Am I missing something?”

 

“Of course he recognised me,” Tony replied. “He knew me the second I took off the helmet in the quinjet. And he knew I'd do my job. Which I did. I stopped him, then handed him over to you-” He turned back to Thor, “-and now he'd _dead_.”

 

And, oh, Steve understood the agony laced into every word of that particular sentence. In it, he saw Bucky falling again, saw the blank stare over the muzzle, saw every failure to find the former assassin. Maybe that was why he and Tony worked so well together, why they kept confiding in each other. Maybe because they were a mirror of each other, both in love with impossible men, who the world had decreed villains.

 

“You could have been compromised,” Natasha pointed out.

 

Tony's head whipped towards her, accompanied by a grimace due to his forgotten dislocated shoulder.

 

“I _wasn't_ ,” he retorted. “I did my job. I wasn't even approved for the Avenger's Initiative, yet I managed to put aside the fact that we were fighting the man I love and stopped him.” When Natasha's gaze didn't change, Tony snapped, “JARVIS, play the tape.”

 

Clearly the AI knew exactly which film he was supposed to show them, as without a word the screens in the lab sprung into life, all showing the same thing: Loki, in the cage on the helicarrier two years before. Then onscreen, Tony stepped into shot, approaching the glass. Loki watched his every step.

 

“Do they know you're here?” he asked.

 

“No,” Tony shook his head. “They're watching a loop of you from earlier. But you try anything and they'll be here in seconds. I'm not that stupid.”

 

Loki smiled.

 

“No. You were never stupid.”

 

“I don't know. I have a lot of scars that might say differently,” Tony shrugged.

 

Loki stepped closer to the glass, his face becoming anguished.

 

“You look well.”

 

“Not bad for nearly three and a half centuries, right?” Tony grinned. “I have a punishing moisturising routine.”

 

Loki chuckled. Tony fell serious.

 

“I missed you.”

 

“And I you.”

 

Tony raised a hand and pressed it against the glass. Inside the cage, Loki did the same, twisting his hand so – were the glass not there – his fingers would fill the gaps between Tony's. The demigod and the genius stared at their hands in silence.

 

“I have to stop you,” Tony said.

 

“I would expect nothing less,” Loki replied. “In fact, I would be disappointed in you if you didn't.”

 

Tony smiled sadly.

 

“I love you. I never stopped.”

 

“Try as I might, neither did I.”

 

“JARVIS, cut the tape,” Tony ordered. The screens all fell silent once more. “Steve will you...?” Tony indicated to his injured shoulder.

 

“Of course,” Steve nodded, stepping forward.

 

“The rest of you can get out,” Tony snapped. “Show's over.”

 

Bruce shepherded the rest of the Avengers out of the lab, closing the door quietly behind him. Steve stepped up, ready to pop Tony's shoulder back into place. As he did so, he noticed the way Tony's eyes shone, a layer of tears glistening under the lights, his jaw clenched shut.

 

“Ready?” Steve murmured, grasping Tony's shoulder.

 

“Yeah,” Tony rasped. “Go for it.”

 

“This is gonna hurt,” Steve warned.

 

Tony laughed humourlessly.

 

“Doesn't it always?”

 

 

X

 

 

Steve moved silently through the halls, bottle in hand until he found Tony sitting in the common area, on the raised platform where the couches sat in a square. He paused and watched his teammate for a moment, reading the anguish in the line of Tony's shoulders as his head hung down, his hands twisted together. Was he, Steve wondered, imagining holding Loki's hand rather than his own? Steve retrieved two glasses from the bar and climbed the steps to join Tony.

 

The glasses clinked against the glass top of the table, drawing Tony from his reverie. He lifted his head, relaxing imperceptibly when he saw it was only Steve.

 

“Hey,” Tony nodded. “What's going on?”

 

“Brought us something,” Steve replied. He sat down and held up the bottle. Tony's eyebrows raised; he let out a low whistle.

 

“That's good stuff Cap.”

 

“Thought it could be something for us to share,” Steve explained, “When we talk about the fact that we're both in love with men the world would have us believe are villains.”

 

“The Problematic Ex-Boyfriends Club,” Tony grinned.

 

“Exactly,” Steve nodded.

 

He cracked the seal on the bottle to pour them each two gingers of scotch. Tony took his glass and clinked it against Steve's before taking a sip. He hummed appreciatively.

 

“That's good.”

 

“Well if I can't get drunk, it kinda has to be,” Steve joked.

 

Tony laughed, leaning back in his chair. Then he sighed, dragging his hand down his face.

 

“You probably think I'm crazy,” he said.

 

“No,” Steve shook his head. “I think the Loki you knew and the Loki we fought are two different people. And I _know_ that you love each other. I could see that. How long were you together?”

 

“Two hundred years,” Tony replied. “It was... yeah, it was good. We had a lot of fun together.”

 

“So, what? Odin had a problem with you being a man?”

 

“No, Odin had a problem with me being a slave,” Tony corrected. “He didn't care that Loki was sleeping with a man. Just that it was a slave. If he hadn't caught us that day...”

 

“And there was no way to hide what you were doing? Make it look like something else?”

 

“Well, I had my mouth around his dick at the time, so no,” Tony smirked.

 

“Yeah, that's some pretty compelling evidence,” Steve agreed.

 

“I mean, I don't think he would've bought it if we said Loki tripped and his dick just happened to land in my mouth,” Tony added and they descended into laughter.

 

When it died, Tony tilted his head back, pursing his lips, then admitted, “I miss him so much. God.” He fell silent, staring into space. Steve sat quietly, sipping his whisky, allowing Tony his moment or however long he needed. “Tell me about you and Barnes,” Tony said eventually.

 

Steve smiled automatically.

 

“We were friends forever,” he shrugged. “I knew. That it was more. Not just for me, for him too. But we never said anything. We couldn't. It was illegal. We each figured on our own that if we couldn't be happy together, we'd rather see each other happy.

 

“Then I met Peggy. And she was... She was amazing. I love her so much. And loving her didn't mean I loved Bucky any less, just like loving him didn't mean I loved her less.” He swallowed. “But then... Then Bucky was gone, and I realised that all those reasons we'd had for doing nothing, saying nothing, they were all bullshit. I should've told him how I felt the minute I realised. But I didn't. Until it was too late.”

 

“You wanted to die that day,” Tony stated. Stated, no questioning.

 

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “Only I didn't. And, it turns out, neither did he.I knew, soon as I saw him, I knew I had to find him and just tell him. Stop wasting time.” He took another sip of whisky. “Course, easier said than done. Sometimes I think I should just give up.”

 

“Don't.”

 

Tony's voice was harsh and fierce, his brows furrowed together as he fixed Steve in his gaze.

 

“Don't,” he said again. “Steve, if I knew Loki was out there, I'd burn all nine realms looking for him. Don't give up.”

 

Steve held Tony's gaze and felt every ounce of pain and love and regret burning in his friend's eyes. He nodded once.

 

“Okay. I won't. I promise.”

 

 

X

 

 

Tony moved slowly through the corridors after bidding Steve a good night. He'd taken the time to ensure their bottle of whisky was safely secured away from prying hands and nosy archers, before heading down to his own floor. For the first time in a long time – certainly since Thor's announcement and probably since before New York – he felt calm. No, at peace. That was it. A little part of him had repaired itself with Steve's companionship. Steve understood. Tony hoped for his sake that he would find Barnes and that their story would have a happier ending than his and Loki's.

 

Stepping into his bedroom, Tony flicked on the lamp and crossed to the bathroom. After changing and going through his nightly routine, he returned to the bedroom, murmuring to JARVIS to close the curtains, then sat down on his bed and found Loki standing at the foot of his bed.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Tony murmured. Loki smirked. Tony shook his head. “Should've known you were still alive,” he said. “I'm guessing you don't want the happy news shared with your brother?”

 

“No,” Loki replied. “I would rather he believe me dead.”

 

“Then why tell me?”

 

“Because if I thought you were dead, it would destroy me,” Loki said.

 

“Destroy,” Tony echoed and thought back on how he'd spiralled after Thor dropped that particular bomb on him, unaware of its effects. “Yeah, that sounds about right. You know if you were really here, I'd punch you.”

 

“Really?” Loki smirked. “If I were really here, I can think of many more enjoyable physical pursuits we could engage in.”

 

“Start with punching you,” Tony amended. “I mean, I still remember your safe-word so we're good.”

 

“I look forward to it,” Loki murmured.

 

“Where are you?” Tony asked. When Loki didn't answer, he asked, “Are you safe?”

 

“Yes,” Loki nodded.

 

“Good,” Tony declared.

 

“There's going to be a statue to me and everything,” Loki added.

 

“'Bout time,” Tony smiled, remembering a whispered conversation full of laughter, lying together unsure of where one ended and the other began and not caring either way. Loki grinned once more, before falling serious.

 

“Take care of yourself, Tony,” he said. “I love you.”

 

Then he was gone, leaving Tony staring at an empty space.

 

“Yeah,” Tony whispered. “Be safe.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me rambling on tumblr here: [weethreequarter](https://weethreequarter.tumblr.com)  
> Support my stationary addiction here: <https://ko-fi.com/weethreequarter>


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